4th day Part 2

When I got off the train in Trondheim, I said goodbye to my fellow sufferers and headed towards the mountains near the fjord, the Bymarka Nature Reserve. On the way there, I passed colorful houses, mast ships, and a huge power plant, with most of the time a view of the huge Strindfjorden. The sky was gray, but that didn't dampen my good mood, because I was finally heading into the mountains.

When I had gone far enough from Trondheim, I dared to climb for the first time. The coniferous forest that stretched out in front of me looked ominous and was interspersed with massive rocks. The ground was covered with bell heather, blueberries, mushrooms, needles, and moss. I kept picking a handful of blueberries and popping them into my mouth. When I reached a hilltop with a view of the city, I sat down on the needled ground and called my grandmother. After telling her enough about my journey, I moved on.

The forest became denser and the paths narrower. I decided to follow a footpath uphill and ventured further into the reserve. My footpath turned into wild trails and the gray clouds delivered on their promise of rain. The wild paths ended in damp moors and I started getting wet. I had already been in the mountains for about two hours and I was afraid of getting lost. I knew from the weather forecast that it would rain heavily from 9 p.m. onwards and I didn't have much time left to find a campsite. When I had enough of the moors, I trudged on through the blueberry shrubs instead. After a while, I had to admit to myself that I had gotten lost. However, I still wanted to continue and, ideally, reach a campsite by a mountain lake.

Hours passed with vague descents, traversing moors, and the gentle pattering of rain on my hat until I finally came across a path again. My mood had shifted a bit because I feared having to sleep in the wet. I walked along a path with the aim of reaching Nybekken, a lake that was marked on my map. I walked for about another hour, until suddenly I let out a cry of joy.

In front of me was a small shelter, big enough to sleep in. There was a sign hanging at the entrance with the inscription Wangsvika. I unfolded my tarp on the ground, inflated my sleeping mat, and started cooking. I hung my wet clothes on a clothesline to dry. After a big portion of noodles, I laid out my sleeping bag and, after a few episodes of my comfort series, I succumbed to sleep. I am writing this text the next day in my hammock, where I am lying now.